


Important

by Victor_SteckerEpps



Category: White Collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-08
Updated: 2011-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-21 04:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victor_SteckerEpps/pseuds/Victor_SteckerEpps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tag for "Countermeasures". Fair warning, there are spoilers for that episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another transfer from my fanfiction.

"Why didn't you tell me you could sing?" Peter asked, the morning after dinner with June. Neal glanced up and looked back down at the papers scattered across his desk.

"It didn't seem important." Neal said, reaching for a pen.

"No. There's more to it than that. Come on, what's the story?" Peter questioned, not letting go, even when it was clear to him that Neal wanted him to. Neal looked up again, and this time he held Peter's gaze. There was an odd look on his face.

"Nothing Peter." He said in a tone that Peter had never heard before. It was a voice that said 'I will hurt you if you don't stop talking.' For a moment Peter was scared oh his friend.

"Okay Neal." Peter said, walking away.

Peter went through the day distracted, however. It bugged him that Neal would not tell him. It reminded him that there were still parts of Neal that he didn't know.

But as he was going home, he heard Neal humming under his breath. It was sweet and rough at the same time. Peter closed his eyes, there was meaning behind it. But he knew Neal wouldn't tell him.

Peter sighed, there was a story there and he wanted to know what it was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? Pretty please?

Neal sighed leaning his head against the glass window of his apartment. His forehead was sweaty and his breath fogged the glass. The nightmares had woken him up again.

Each night for years the same song had haunted him when his eyes closed. The melody was always in his head, the rhythm always in his fingers.

Neal had hoped Peter hadn't noticed his singing at June's, but of course the FBI agent had. And he questioned it, not that Neal expected anything less of him.

But Neal couldn't give him answers. It was too hard to dig into his past. Too hard to relive the nightmares. He had the nights and the scars on his back to remind him. So he put on a mask and he lied.

It was the first time he had ever directly, intentionally, led to Peter, but he couldn't bring himself to feel guilty about it. Peter was pushing something that he shouldn't have brought up in the first place.

He saw the flicker of fear on Peter's face, but he couldn't bring himself to regret that either. Pain was pain no matter whose pain it was.

The truth was that he never sang because it reminded him. Peter was right that there was a story there, but not one that he was willing to share.

The melody was rough and sweet and it reminded Neal of home. But that wasn't a good thing. Neal sighed again, poured himself a glass of red, and prepared for another sleepless night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope you all love the final chapter. Sorry I didn't update yesterday.

Days had passed.

More importantly, nights had past, since the party at June's.

Peter had not asked Neal again about his singing. Had not pressured him into telling him about the sweet, rough, somehow perfect melody.

And Neal had not brought it up either. He was content to let the skeletons stay in the closet. Happy to leave the questions unanswered.

But they both knew that Peter would bring it up again. He was a FBI agent. Getting answers was what he did. And agents did not leave the important questions without answers.

Neal's past was an important question.

Neal's music was important.

It was another night, and Peter and Neal gathered in June's parlor, for reasons neither of them could remember after a night of drinking.

They would do that, sometimes, the two of them. They would sit in June's beautiful house and drink in silence.

But this night the silence was heavy with questions.

Neal stood and leaned against the piano, his finger ghosting over the keys.

"Do you play?" Peter asked, his words slight slurred, though not noticeably.

"Yes." Neal answered simply, sitting on the black lacquer bench. He closed his eyes and let his fingers take control. They moved swiftly, brushing the keys gently and pulling music out of thin air.

It took Peter only moments to recognize the pattern as the one that Neal would hum under his breath when he thought no one could hear.

They both let the music wash over them. The harmony's rose and fell, rhythms and melody intertwined. As the music swelled, so did the memories. Both men could feel the emotion rise like the waves, and crash down on them. It was beautiful.

And as soon as it began, it ended.

Neal opened his eyes slowly and turned. He saw the question in the set of Peter's face.

"My father. Andrew Conlon." He answered quietly, getting up and walking away without another word, drink forgotten on the end-table.


End file.
